Light and Darkness

Shout. Shout. Let It All out!

Added a new toy to Light and Darkness. Look to the left. Say hello.

February can kiss my ass!

I am so fucking glad this month is over. I've had to deal with the death of my father...the day before that horrible VD. And my relationship with the love of my life isn't like it was months ago. One important man in my life gone forever. And having to make a decision to step back from the one man I want to spend the rest of my life with...I feel like I'm dying.

I hate February. I HATE FEBRUARY!!!! It's my fucking kryptonite. It's my Friday the 13th.

I have been avoiding friends. I admit. I'm not any fun. I just get tired of me so I can only imagine every one getting fucking sick of me.

I've been death-obsessed lately. I have this fear that Em will die when she's not in sight of me. I've been having mini-panic attacks because of the thoughts. I think about Pop opening his eyes suddenly buried feet under the ground because he's not truely dead; and I start weeping and pacing.

The nightmares have been unusual. I'm use to nightmare and night terrors. These are more like people in my life not wanting me involved in their lives. Outright declarations that I'm an emotional black hole and cause too many disturbances in their lives. I'm unwanted and unloved.

I haven't been able to concentrate as well as of late, either. Simple mistakes made in every aspect of my life including counting money, driving, speaking. I either eat too much or nothing at all in a day.

So much going on in my head in a self-destructive way but then there is this vacant automatic response to living that suggests I'm void of any thought.

Just feeling.....????.....sigh....yeah.

"What's up with this anti-God thing."

My friend, Beth has a new blog on MySpace and one of her recent blog entries posted this question of me that I have to respond to. I told her I was going to post a response there but as usual, I was getting long-winded.

What's up with this anti-God thing?

Anti-God? I'm not Anti-God. I think I'm anti-man in regards of our definition and rules of God. I get angry at God like any other man or woman created. There are such fascinating and beautiful things in religions but I don't trust them. I think that the majority of us distort God and spirituality to fit into nice little definitions that make what we are doing in our lives right and what others are doing in their lives wrong.

I'm anti-hypocrisy. I hate hypocrisy. Sunday Christians.Extreme crusaders. Zealots that claim what they are doing is in the name of God....everything from those people blowing up buildings to those selfish religious leaders sitting on an outrageous gilded set and transmitting to millions of people worldwide asking for money to support their hedonistic lifestyles.

I am definitely not anti-God. I am human. No more nor no less than those who create religions and make rules and then pass judgement on those who say we as humans are not trying hard enough in life and that's why we don't have favor in God's eyes. I am very much a believer in God. Very much a believer in a Creator. I just refuse to pretend I don't get angry or sinful or "blasphemous" with questioning "why me, God?!"

I don't believe in religion. I believe in spirituality. I believe in God. I believe in being accountable for ourselves and to others. I believe in ONE GOD. God is not male. God is not female. God is limitless. God is infinite. God could care less of us if God wanted to. God can change God's mind and completely decided all the "rules" for living written down by man are NO longer what God wants. God is God. Why are there restrictions on what God should be.

Limits belong to man who is finite and will die and return to the soil. Man is bound...by desires and selfishness and feelings of inadequacy. And because of the mortal coil we are all invested in, we corrupt what is truely God.

I think all of my past entries in the Gye Nyame archives have been more or less about my human soul and my flawed perceptions of God, my struggles with what role God plays in my life, and really, a helluva lot of depression and disappointment.

The prefix anti- suggests complete opposite or contrary to a position. In fact, its definition reads opposite, opposition, against.. I am none of these in regards to God. The Great One is a favorite of mine. Made trees, rocks, the oceans just to name a few. I'm all for more of all of those. I find all this beauty indications of a God that exists and I just don't think I'm against any of that.

So, not anti-God. Angry with God at times. Disappointed at myself for not living up to the beauty of what I could be. Pissed at people who can point their damnation fingers at me and propose to tell me what God thinks based on relgions founded by man, supported by man, corrupted by man, edited by man, and generally fucked up by man.

And if I'm wrong....well, I'm willing to face God with my sins exposed and take responsibilty for all of them.

The Purchase

After paying off some bills, I still have some money for a laptop. I'm looking for suggestions...especially from people who know their shit and can step away from the tecnology-god language for five seconds and talk to a mere mortal in this arena. I am looking for:

• a notebook that will give me a couple years of performance before becoming totally obsolete
• something that has wireless connection
• satiates the internet junkie that I am
• burns those CD/DVDs...and plays them as well
• photo editing capable
• still gives me basic needs like spreadsheets, word processing, desktop publishing
• affordable
• ports (yes, I know most come standard but still...have to say it)

Other features are negotiable unless I'm missing what should be obvious. So, suggest away so I can start my hunt.

No Point

I am not going to my father's burial tomorrow. The decision weighs heavy on my heart. I see regret in the future for not going. I see issues arising from my not travelling to Memphis for his military service. But I can't go.

Last week was a reminder that I am unimportant in the scheme of people's lives. I just wanted to mourn my father. I wanted to go and see his body one last time before not having his physical presence on this earth any more....that tangible part of him...here. I went hoping to be consoled by people who know him and love him and maybe, me too. But last week? I was still the outsider. I was the intruder. I was dismissed and scorned. I was a second rate person in my father's life and is also, evidently in his death.

So, why go? Why go and feel like even more of an outsider in the lives of others? Why go and feel excluded when all I want is to mourn? I can mourn here. I can mourn alone. That's what I've been doing anyways.

I know my faults. I know I'm not a good person or worth a pile of shit. I get reminded every day. I don't need to travel over fourteen hours round trip just to be reminded in Technicolor. When I die, I am going to the woods and dying alone. I will not tell a soul. I'm just going to disappear. I'm tired of people. I'm tired of my life and who I am in others. I can't blame how people treat me though. I deserve everything I get. I don't make it easy to know me. But you can't say that I never warned you to stay away.

So....Pop's dead. His family mourns him. No point in intruding tomorrow.

Now If you will excuse me, I am going to go away.

Things Can Go From Worse to Worser

I think I mentioned I have to go back to Tennessee for my father's interment. Explanation? Ok.

My father, as stated, was a retired Marine. He put twenty years in the Corps. As a benefit of military service, he can be buried in a national cemetery. Hell, if he wished it, I think he could have been buried in Arlington (I don't know how that works out but don't quote me on that).

Anyway.....

When he was first discovered dead in his bed, the ambulance was called and such. Then detectives and such because I guess it's standard practice to perform an investigation in a death that occurs when someone is not expected to die. My father's health failed fast and we knew it was a matter of time...we didn't know when. I had hoped for a year or two. So, an investigation and we were told an autopsy, which both would delay services.

A medical examine concluded my father's cause of death was a hypertensive heart with secondary cause being his Parkinson's. No autopsy. So services were planned. The viewing was scheduled for Friday evening and the memorial services on Saturday morning.

Back to the national cemetery thing. National cemeteries have rules for burial. I'm sure all cemeteries do but there are more stringent ones with the national ones. There are no burials on the weekend which threw out Saturday and Sunday. And today was a national holiday so that closed Monday. There are also the rule of burying only a limited number of people on a daily basis so there are appointments (it's so damn exclusive that everyone is just dying to get in.....aha ha ha...ahem. yeah). SOOOOO, my dad's schedule time in this Thursday at 9 a.m. with full military honors like the gun salute and such.

My father was dressed in his Marine Corps blues including his white gloves and cover, medals, and parade sword. It brings tears to my eyes as I think about what he looked and felt like. Still having problems dealing with it.

His family (save a person or two like my cousin Sarah) were total dicks to my mother, Emma, and me. I felt like a stranger at my own father's funeral....like I was intruding on a private family event and that I had no right to mourn this man. I don't think I can forgive them for their behaviour. Yes, grief causes people to do strange things but you don't rally together and treat certain people like shit and console others....that sadden my already sad heart.

I spoke on behalf of my siblings and myself, and I am grateful for that moment especially with all the sadness of the weekend. It was not the most eloquent speech I have ever written but I did what I could under the circumstances.

I have had difficulty trying to sum up one man's 54 years in words. First, comes the disbelief and anger that he only got 54 years. Then comes the selfish sadness that I won't see him again. All of it stops me from simply talking about who Papa was in life and is in our hearts and memories

But remembering him only takes realizing he enjoyed the simple things in life:

• Watching a Packer's game while eating a monster of a sandwich
• Finding a good movie to enjoy over and over again to add to his huge collection
• A hat for his head
• Music-especially those perfectly selected artists for the road trips
• Anything with an engine but more like his dream cars...the better
• And his chair.

I believe Jenn, Shawn, and I learned to soak up the joy from the simple things in every day living from Pop's quiet way. Because that was Pa. He wasn't one for huge philosophical talks or great emotional reveals.

He let us know that he was happy by that grin of his mouth or angry, usually at something we, kids had just done wrong, with the tightening of those same lips. And he toughed out the rest-all those rough bits in our lives, his life, in his stoic Marine Corps way.

And Pa was tough. Strict when were kids. He lived by the Corps. I always joked that any recruit at Parris Island had it easier compared to the S kids. He did mellow with age but kept that strong way about him that he used to battle the illness to the end.

I could speak forever about Pa because I have a lifetime of memories of him. Some not so good but others quite extraordinary.

The sum of a man's life is not all the years he puts into it but how he lived them...and how his loved ones remember him. I know each of us has hundreds, if not thousands of memories of the man my siblings and I call Papa.

Our grandfather was correct when he whispered to me yesterday that our Pop was a good man. He was. He is.

Before I go, I leave you with one of my memories.

It was a day in 1978 in Laurel Bay, SC. I remember the happiness in my heart. The excitement of the day. I was holding hands with Pop, and we were walking on a sidewalk or paved mall. I remember looking down at my shadown and feeling so very happy. I was also a little nervous about what I had to do but it didn't matter to me because this was mine and Pop's day. I remember sitting in a chair in front of a large room of people. There were questions about Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. I was asked if Papa helped me with my homework. I remember wanting to get the answers right. It was so very important to. And it was over...quick as that.

I was six years old and it was the day my Pop adopted me as his own daughter.

Thank you Pop. I love you. We love you. And we miss you.

...

On the way home, the most horrible thing happened. It was about 2 a.m. and I was driving (around 75 mph on a 70 mph highway). Suddenly in front of me not even 50 feet away there was an animal. I could swear it was a cat, not quite a kitten but not quite a cat. It was walking straight down the road. I didn't have enough time to swerve without causing the car to overturn. I ran over it and yelled out waking my mother. When I told her what I had done just seconds before, I broke down and sobbed so hard. I pulled over on the shoulder and we switched seats. My mother hugged me as we crossed behind the car next to semis zooming past us on the road. I feel miserable about it.

When I was 18 or 19 years old, I swerved to miss an animal in the middle of the road on a trip from my college back to see my boyfriend. I was all over the road before I hit a huge tree at approximately 60 mph. My father yelled at me and told me to just hit the damn thing if I ever get in a situation like that again.

That's all I could hear when I suddenly saw that animal. I imagined the car overturning and flipping down the embankment and killing all three of us. And now I think about that kitten's head splattered open on the road. I imagine some child crying for her lost friend.

And I think about how my father is dead. Everything makes me think about that.

So stupid.

Help by The Beatles

Lyrics by John Lennon/Paul McCartney

Help! I need somebody
Help! not just anybody
Help! you know I need someone
Help!

When I was younger, so much younger than today
I never needed anybody’s help in any way
But now these days are gone I’m not so self assured
Now I find I’ve changed my mind, I’ve opened up the doors

Help me if you can I’m feeling down
And I do appreciate you being round
Help me get my feet back on the ground
Won’t you please please help me?

And now my life has changed in oh so many ways
My independence seems to vanish in the haze
But every now and then I feel so insecure
I know that I just need you like I’ve never done before

Help me if you can I’m feeling down
And I do appreciate you being round
Help me get my feet back on the ground
Won’t you please please help me?

When I was younger, so much younger than today
I never needed anybody’s help in any way
But now these days are gone I’m not so self assured
Now I find I’ve changed my mind, I’ve opened up the doors

Help me if you can I’m feeling down
And I do appreciate you being round
Help me get my feet back on the ground
Won’t you please please help me?
Help me, help me oom

The Announcement

This is Pop's obituary notice in the Memphis paper. A really great thing about any announcement in the paper is an online guestbook is created. I think that's always nice.

I will be home tomorrow for a few days and then will be travelling back here to Tennessee for my father's actual burial. Long story. Details to come in the wind up of this all much later.

Thank you to my friends that have called and emailed or just thought of me. It's been difficult but it helps to feel loved by those who know it hurts. Thank you again.

***My aunt in Wisconsin submitted information for an obituary in my pop's hometown. Has a little more information, including his tour in Cambodia during the Vietnam War which he NEVER talked about to me. I had to find out about it when I was a teenager from my uncle and I still never received the details of it....just that he was over there and he came back different.***

First Day Here

In Tennessee now and I'm not enjoying this at all. Yes, I know it's not suppose to be a picnic. I'm here to bury my father. But hell....hmmm.

Tears come and go. Little things bring them on. Of course.

sigh

Three Words

It's Valentine's Day. In honor of those you love, don't waste another second. Tell them you love them. Time escapes you. You should never regret that you never said 'I love you' enough.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Steven William S born: Oct 11 1951 died: Feb 13 2006

My dad died today. He didn't wake from his sleep. Part of my heart is broken. I have so much to say but right now it's all tears.

I love you, Papa. I know we hated each other at times. I know we said things. I know we tested the limits of relationships. But still....I love you. And I miss you. And I am so sorry you suffered. And I am so glad you don't any longer. And selfishly, I wish I could have seen you before you had gone. I wish I had next month. Just one more month. But time was yours. And I understand. But I can't help but miss things and cry about others. You will never be at MY wedding. Emma won't see you any longer. Girl Scout cookies will be undeliverable and your last voice mail message on my cell will remind me of our last conversation. I will miss you. Thank you for loving my mother and me. For giving me a life here in the States. Thank you for my sister and brother. Thank you for the extended family. Thank you for the travel. Thank you for the lessons, though hard. Thank you for the second chance to know you. I wish we had longer. I wish I could have fought your battle for you. Exorcised your illness. You deserved better....and now I believe you have it. And if you are around, my dear Pops....check on me. Though we didn't see eye to eye, I love you dearly and I liked having you around....and I'm going to miss you so very much.

Em's Hair

Last month, Emma decided she wanted a haircut and I said, "ok." I didn't get the first few cuts. It wasn't until I finally caught my breath and gathered my senses that I grabbed my camera and clicked a few shots. So, here are a few in process pics and the final results.

This was from the initial cut. Yes, my child has had haircuts before. It's still sometimes hard to keep the room from spinning when locks so luscious get whacked off. She's a young girl that doesn't know how to manage her curly hair yet so it was a good decision. But wow!!! It still hurt!

Isn't she adorable?! She loves it and can manage it well so far. She is having a good time with her curls and I think while her grows out she will learn some maintenance skills. She's happy. That's all that matters.

The Nephews

Was cleaning out some of my computer folders. These were from a recent visit (December) of my sis and her family. Aren't my nephews so damn cute?!

Zavier

 

Linkin

The Anti Anti-Valentine's Day

I am going to combat the Valentine curmudgeon I am. Whether you stumble upon this page by accident or are a regular reader, help me fill my Love Affairs entry for Valentine's Day. Doesn't have to be a person. Can be a favorite cussword that fills you with glee every time you use it. Can be a favorite TV show that you schedule your entire week around. Can be your child. Give me some love

What is your love affair? Who is your love affair? Share your love affair here on Light and Darkness.

huh?!

Strange dreams. What's new, Nae? Right?

Nights ago, I dreamt I was shaving my head with a pair of hair clippers. The following night Em had alopecia in my dream. And then last night Antonio Banderas was the star of my nocturnal murmurings. And he wasn't covering my body with his naked one either.

I don't know if was because of the recent Antonio conversation at PT or the constant previews playing at the theater of his recent movie, but this dream was not pleasant. There was a flood on a plantation that he and I owned. The people living on it were Latino and very, very poor. The flood also brought locust-type insects that ate people. We had our children that we were trying to protect as well as all these cats and animals. And he was trying to get the people on our land into our house, away from the flood waters and locusts. There was much more to the dream but so much chaos that I can't pull it together into anything coherent.

Disturbing.

Eight Easy Steps

On my personalized Gmail account page, I have a "How To..." section. Some of the little tips are quite useful. For example: How to fix a sweater that has shrunk. Useful, yes? But clicking on the mainpage of this little directory leads you to new and interesting places. It's a Wiki for tips on everything. If you didn't know how, below are instructions on How to Buy Colored Pencils for Children.

Colored pencils are smoother to draw with than crayons and are easier to sharpen. Choose a brand you are comfortable with in a package size that fits your needs.

1. Understand that colored pencils are a cross between crayons and pencils. On the outside they look like pencils, but they color almost like crayons. A major benefit is that they are eraseable and easily sharpened.
2. See that colored pencils can come in packages of 12 to 50 pencils.
3. Know that Crayola has a very extensive line of colored pencils and usually offers the best price compared to other brands.
4. Consider the types of colored pencils available. Crayola and Alex make long colored pencils ($2.80 for a Crayola 24-pack and $3 for an Alex 12-pack). Crayola also offers short colored pencils ($2.80 for a 36-pack). Extra-thick colored pencils are available from Crayola ($2 for an 8-pack of Write Start) and Rose Art ($6 for a 50-pack of Large Colored Pencils).
5. Recognize that colored pencils come in other shapes as well. Ferby makes a 12-pack of colored pencils ($15) in a shape designed to be easy for children's hands to grip.
6. Notice that Crayola offers Watercolor Pencils with Brush ($1.50). The artist draws with these pencils, then brushes on water to create a watercolor-painting effect.
7. Be aware that you can purchase art-quality colored pencils like the 12-pack of Memory Pencils ($5) made by EK Success. These pencils are acid-free and photo-safe and are described as archival quality.
8. Note that Color Giants makes a 12-pack of skin-toned colored pencils ($20) that accurately depict human skin shades.

Tip: Buy a coloring book or other art supplies to go with the colored pencils if you are giving them as a gift.

These instructions are better than what you find on a shampoo bottle. Why would anyone need to have directions like these to buy colored pencils? Seriously. Imagine the person who walks into Wal-Mart with these printed instructions. A frazzled mom who looks like she hasn't slept for seven days because of that fear of buying colored pencils for her five year old. She comes rushing into the stationery section scanning all of the art supplies with blood shot wild eyes. Her hair is knotted and thin from her pulling at it with worry anticipating this moment...the fear. The anxiety. There is crust at the corner of her mouth where the spittle has dried from the insane muttering about Crayola or RoseArt. Mascara is streaking down her cheeks from the tears as a result of the anxiety attack. She picks up box after box trying to decipher the labels. She compares the words to what's written on the instructions, shakes her head, and throws them back down. People are scared of her. The sounds escaping from her fill the aisle like the grunts of the unseen Sasquatch. This moment is terrifying for all those innocent passerbys but moreso for that poor mother who has NEVER bought colored pencils before. THANK GOD FOR THOSE INSTRUCTIONS or imagine the chaos that could have insued. Before the white coats are called in to restrain her, the animal-like woman reaches for a Crayola 36-pack of short colored pencils for $2.80...JUST LIKE THE DIRECTIONS SAID. Thank the God, Almighty!

A Shot for VD?

Valentine's Day is so close that I can smell its rotting stench. It's under the guise of love and dedication covered in chocolate and flowers but we know the truth: it's a reminder that as a single person you suck! You couldn't cut it in the dating world. You lack the beauty and personality to be adored by another.

At least that's what it's saying to me. A true hater of the red and white day.

Ok. Maybe I don't hate Valentine's Day. Just the reminder that I am alone and very lonely, and I will probably die as the old person eating her cat's food because she's forgetful, senile and hasn't seen a real person in years.

That damn cupid day reminds me that I suck at love. That I am an emotional disease that causes chaos in other people's lives. I am definitely no good in the good feelings emotion called amor.

sigh....

I hate that day. Yes, it's deep rooted. Spoken like a person who never received a Valentine's gift from an admirer. I'm the girl that some people in class purposely left off their Valentine's list. I'm the one who always has the crushes that never lead anywhere. Eh, stupid holiday.

It's definitely a day for lovers and children's class parties. Meanwhile, I'm going to tweeze my eyebrows on February 14 and call it a day.

Someone Won a $1 Bet.

All I can say is that the director HAD to have made a bet with his friends before planning this video. Other than that, I have to repeat Emily's words, "Oh My God."

When you're done...you can do a search here: YouTube

Good Night, El Matador.

If you are going to the movies and want to spend your money on something worth watching, there are two choices I can suggest....but only if you can appreciate things other than mindless idiocy like The Dukes of Hazard (and yes, I watched that. I work at cinema. I watch A LOT of mindless crap. But it's all free so what do I care): the black and white, Good Night, and Good Luck with David Strathairn as infamous journalist Edward Murrow or the dark comedy, The Matador with Pierce Brosnan and Greg Kinnear.

First, Good Night, and Good Luck. The movie assumes you understand a thing or two about the era. If you don't know, it's about Murrow's editorials on CBS of the McCarthy trials and of Senator McCarthy himself. Great film. Strathairn made this film. His performance was absolutely brilliant as Murrow. I can't imagine anyone else in the role. With such reservation and calm in his dead pan face, I saw so much emotion beneath the surface. Brilliant. Bloody Brilliant performance. So often, you could easily pass Strathairn over in a film. He's just one of those actors that sort of blends into the film. I think that proves the excellence of an actor. Even though, he generally doesn't have these magnificently loud roles that puts him center stage, he becomes a vein of the film. Well, here...wow. He embodied Murrow. Made the film.

Now, The Matador. We are all so used to seeing Pierce Brosnan in these sexy roles. Remington Steele, James Bond, etc etc. He plays Julian, a middle-aged facilitator (aka assassin) who befriends a salesman, Danny (played by Greg Kinnear). Julian is oversexed, crude, rude, and perhaps bisexual. He is often drunk and unshaven. He chain smokes like there is no tomorrow. And let us not forget that he kills people for a living. And yet, you can't help but love him. My God...I think this is by far my favorite role I have seen Brosnan in. He is stunning in pulling on a coat of something that is not his traditional garb. The title is fitting, quite metaphorical....and I'm not going to explain it for those who want to see it. I'd rather you get the idea.

Ok....I'm off. Have some things to do. Then I'm off to the movies again. today is my second day off in a row. Woo Hoo! I'm going to see Brokeback Mountain this afternoon. Pick Em up and then we are going to watch Munich. And tonight we are screening Final Destination 3 (I told you I watch the fluff movies. I do fill my brain with nonsensical things. Hey, I LOVED..loved....loved Grandma's Boy.)

Hindsight

In my sidebar to the left, I created a new list called Hindsight. I wanted to link to previous posts here at Light and Darkness because there are some that I enjoyed. And it's not always easy to go through the categories to read everything....not that you would want to. I just reread Autonomy and am actually surprised at my own writing. Have you ever surprised yourself like that? It's hard for me to take things in that are positive. As we all know, I have the self-esteem issues so positive self talk and all that psychological sunshine becomes wasted words so much of the time.

Anyhoo, wanting to spotlight an oldie every now and then. If there is something in particular you liked and would like to see again, let me know. I also know I need to do more creative writing. I've been too harsh by restricting myself from that...and I'm miserable for it.

The Portal has Closed.

Socks.

I don't care about the brand. I could care less about the fabric. The style matters not. I only want the two pieces to match. That's all. Only important thing I ask for in footwear undergarments.

Now, I didn't think I was extraordinary in this need for matching socks. I mean, you see very little people walking out of their homes with mismatched toesy clothes. Occasionally, yes, a person of the male persuasion may be so inclined to wear one black and one blue. Happens. But come on....I am no different than you for my sock sensibilities. Am I?

Evidently so according to Emmaline. She thinks I'm weird. She thinks I'm a eensy bit anal about the socks, hosiery, etc I put on my feet.

I will not walk out of my house unless my socks match absolutely perfectly. I have to know that they came out of the same bag I bought them in...meaning that the stitching is the same. The thread is the same. The size. ETC. ETC. ETC.

May seem simple. But herein lies the difficulty. I generally buy three types of foot hosiery: white socks, black socks, trouser stockings. AND I never buy the same brand. Nor the same style. I get the largest bag of socks on sale. So, when the black socks get washed and I haven't folded laundry and I need socks RIGHT now so I can get to work....I will go thru all the socks to find a mate. They will look close enough. They will be soooooo similar in style and stitching but not quite so. Noone else would be able to tell the difference. AND my pants will cover the socks up while I'm at work. BUT, OH NO!!! I won't do it. I will not leave the house without the perfect mate. And I will be so very close to late. BUT, OH NO!!!! Not happening. Must be matching.

Even if I had to dress in layers upon layers to cross a frozen tundra in the middle of the coldest winter in the dead zone of the Arctic Circle to save my life, and I had only moments to cover my feet in mismatched socks before losing my toes to frostbite......ok, I would wear them wrong socks then, but any other reason....FORGET IT!!!

And while we are on the subject of socks, let me tell you about the dryer. I have discovered that while everyone in the entire world during the entire historical partnership of socks and dryers have lost one sock of a two sock pair, I have always ended up with extra socks in my laundry....UNTIL my dryer ceased to work due to the fire.

I kid you not. I have no idea how this has happened. It's not like I was doing laundry elsewhere. I was doing it here in my house. I would find socks that I had never bought. Extremely long, male socks. Socks of a different color. Itty bitty baby socks. And I would throw them away. But quite regularly, a load would have one or two stray socks not belonging to my household.

I think my dryer was a dumping ground for everyone's lost socks. It's the only thing I can think of. Perhaps my dryer was the portal to sock heaven. And now that it is closed, all those poor socks are stuck in lint limbo somewhere until I can get a new one.

Raging Hormones

The doc said that I need to be back on the progesterone. He believes the excessive periods are just my periods out of whack again due to the PCOS (poly-cystic ovarian syndrome). I do have a cyst on my cervix, which is not an abnormal thing in women....yes, I know. TMI. So back on the hormones. He was optimistic about any future child-bearing plans. At least he sounded optimistic. And though it's not necessarily something that may happen, it is nice to have the possibility still open.

Still waiting on results of a CBC. Gyno wants to make sure I'm not anemic.

The Crap

The doctor's visit yesterday was not as productive as I had wanted it to be. I had some blood work done to check my hormone levels and a received a referral to gyno, who I see tomorrow.

Can I say that I am really worried about all this? My mother was thirty-five when she had a full hysterectomy and that is only a year and some for me. THAT and my past cancer scare. I had a highly abnormal PAP smear that resulted in a biopsy of my cervix. Yeah....worried.

Going to not think anything of this until I'm told that I should.

...

Mrs. Devine called me today asking what my credit is like. She wants to sell the house to me. Mixed feelings about it all. I love this house. I cherish this house, but I hate Pensacola. I don't want to live here indefinitely. Secondly, I suck at money. I barely make it as it is. If I buy the house, I'll fuck it up. I know I will. And then I'll lose the house. I can see it happening. I am unreliable.

You know...I realize I am good at things. Certain things. But the important things in life, I suck at it. I am terrible with those matters that weigh quite a bit to me. So, I'm smart. What is that doing for me? So, I can do a couple of handy things. How am I using any of that to better myself?

I'm losing, again, the things that matter to me. Eh. How long did it last this time? Just run away. Run away from the crazy, loser of a person known as me.